


Consumed

by i am only revolutions (onashtreelane), sarisel



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Horror, Alternate Universe - Star Wars, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-09
Updated: 2013-09-09
Packaged: 2017-12-26 03:34:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/961106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onashtreelane/pseuds/i%20am%20only%20revolutions, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarisel/pseuds/sarisel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes the 'ghost of the past' is more than just a metaphor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Because Of These Things

**Author's Note:**

> Heavily influenced by Matthew Stover's adaptation of _Revenge of the Sith_. Also, please understand that this is horror. It will contain themes and elements associated with that genre.

  
[](http://tinypic.com?ref=2ag944y)

**ANAKIN**  


My speeder shrieked through the storm, dodging lightning that shot from the towers to the clouds, my shockwave cracking windows as I passed. Rain fell in sheets, but I didn't see it. I didn't see anything except the senate building in the distance.

The skyscraper spat its own lightning, matching the strikes outside. The bolts that leapt from the window were the color of lightsabers: green fans, purple arches, and crimson slashes bright against the night. The green winked out, and there was only red and purple left. Someone had already fallen. I was too late.

The speeder skidded to an abrupt stop, barely missing the window of Palpatine's private office. On his desk lay the head of Kit Fisto, face up, tentacles spilled loose across its top. His lidless eyes stared blankly at the ceiling. In the arena on Geonosis, Master Fisto had effortlessly carved his way through countless droids. He had never lost his smile, as if the battle were some kind of joke. He wore the same grin now. Was death funny, too?

I ignited my saber and sliced through the window, diving in through the gap. Bodies littered the short hallway to Palpatine's office, robes and armor still smoking. It was an effort not to squeeze shut my eyes, but my comrades deserved better than being stepped on. I sprinted past them as carefully as I could. 

I threw open the doors. Within the public office of the Supreme Chancellor of the Galactic Republic, a Jedi Master struggled alone, blade to blade against a living shadow. The fight had begun hours ago.

_"Obi-Wan..." I trailed off, struggling for breath. "I need to talk to Obi-Wan!"_

_"Obi-Wan is operational on Utapau;" Mace replied, "he has destroyed General Grievous. We are leaving now to tell the Chancellor, and to see to it that he steps down, as he'd promised--"_

_I cut Mace off. "Steps--steps down--" My voice was sharp, bitter. "You have no idea!"_

_Mace's brows lowered. He put his arm around my shoulders, and I sagged against him even as he guided me to the nearest bench. "Anakin? What's wrong?"_

_"Listen to me--you have to listen to me! Palpatine--he's--Master Windu, please, give me your word, promise me it will be an arrest, promise me you won't hurt him!"_

Mace had made no such promises.

Now, like a bug on its back, Palpatine cringed against a saber-scorched wall, hands before his ravaged face, his weapon long gone. In the darkness of his office, his eyes were the yellow of a trapped cat. He simpered, he begged, but it was as if his opponent heard nothing.

Mace raised his blade, and purple fire threatened. "You Sith _disease._ "

" _Wait!_ You can't just kill him!" Rushing across the room, I seized his saber arm in my mechanical grip. 

"Yes, I can," Mace said, grim. "I have to."

"You came to arrest him! He has to stand trial!"

"A trial would be a joke! He controls the courts. He controls the Senate--" Mace jerked his arm downward, breaking free. All at once, the Force was between us, thrusting me back. "He's too dangerous to be left alive! If you could have taken Dooku alive, would you have?"

I choked. 

"You can explain the difference after he's dead." Mace's face was stone. In silence, he turned toward the beaten Sith Lord and ended the old man's life with a flick of his saber.

"NO!" 

With my scream, the Force twisted, turning back on itself. Mace's eyes widened as it slammed into his chest, shattering both bone and the durasteel window behind him. Whether he was dead when the rain struck him in the face or when he hit the ground... None of it mattered. All I saw was what he had taken from me. Clutching my chest, I crumpled to my knees.

Behind the over-turned desk, something stirred. I tipped back my head, waiting. Was it another Jedi, come to avenge what I had done?

"How--how could you?"

I stiffened. "Padmé?" 

She leaned heavily against the wall, a hand flat against her belly, her face streaked with dirt and tears. Slowly her strength gave way, and she slid downward, her voluminous dress beginning to puddle around her. _"How could you?"_

"Padmé!" I stumbled to my feet, starting forward to catch her.

"Don't touch me!" All at once she came down hard, falling to her knees. Eyes wide, she scrambled sideways along the length of the wall, away from me. Her skirt snagged and tore on broken stone, shedding both Nubian silk and brocade, exposing battered legs. 

I stammered, nearly frozen in place. "Padmé, what happened?"

"The--" She broke off, panting between clenched teeth. "The treaty. He said he was going to sign our treaty."

I took another step forward and she lurched out of my grasp. Wetness burst from between her legs as she fell over, birth-water and blood pooling underneath her bent knees. Far too much blood.

I collapsed and pulled her onto my lap. She struggled, fists slamming into my chest, but I refused to let her go. She coughed, and scarlet welled between her lips. "Who are you? I don't even know you anymore. My Ani wouldn't have--"

But I would have. She knew what I had done to the Tuskens, and suddenly the truth of it all settled in her eyes. Her hand stilled against my cheek. "Oh. Oh, Ani."

I could barely breathe. I rocked her thoughtlessly, grasping at the Force in frantic attempts to heal her. It slipped through my fingers as quickly as she was. 

Padmé coughed again, splattering my face with blood, and tried to wipe it from my chin. "We'll go to the Lake Country," she said, face now completely grey. "Set up the nursery. My mother--my mother will be so happy." She smiled painfully up at me, the expression erased an instant later when she moaned again and hugged her belly.

I choked, sobbing, pressing her to my chest. "You'll be just fine--" 

Her body went rigid in my arms. I looked down just as the seizure took her, her heels slamming hard against the tile, blood frothing from her mouth. The wetness in my lap became an ocean, and she went limp in my arms.

"Padmé?" I shook her. "Padmé... Padmé!" 

I shook her and her head lolled. There was no response, no movement, no breath. The Force slipped away from her as easily as it had come. All of it, all of it had been for her, and now it was gone, lost to me in a single moment and the fading echo of her gasp.

I wept into her shoulder. Somewhere in the distance, I heard an animal scream.

The animal was me. 

 

+++

**OBI-WAN**

When Yoda found my former Padawan, Anakin had been mute as well as deaf to the Jedi Master's words, the blood of Senator Amidala soaked so deep into his clothing that it colored his skin.

Palpatine had lured her to his office, of that there was no doubt. Once she had arrived, he had made no attempt to hide his duplicity from the cameras ensconced in his walls. When we reviewed the security recordings, they revealed that she was to be nothing but a pawn in a final end-game between Sith and Jedi, a hostage to ensure successful... negotiations. Successful, but hardly peaceful.

When the Jedi had arrived, Palpatine had hidden nothing of his battle with Master Windu, either. Winners write our histories, as they say, and perhaps he had wanted his triumph over _assassination_ recorded for posterity. If not for Anakin, our future books might have been penned in scarlet. 

At least that was what I chose to believe. 

By the time Anakin had burst into Palpatine's office, its cameras had long since ceased functioning, cracked by Force-blasts and half-melted by saber-heat. It was pure luck that we had been able to retrieve anything at all. Yet luck had only gone so far. Mace, Padmé, her twins... we had lost them all.

But not Anakin. Let the rumor-mill surmise what it wanted, I planned to stand by him. The Separatist leader might have fallen, whatever that meant, but the long night had just begun. 

In complete silence, six snow white gualaars drew an open, flower-strewn casket through the crowded Palace Plaza of Theed, the capital city of Naboo, birth planet of its beloved Senator Amidala. Pale against the darkness of her dress, her hands clasped a crudely carved trinket against her still swollen belly. I did not need to glance at the man beside me to know that he had fashioned it. I gazed at my boots instead, into their impeccably polished surface. That I could do so little in her memory--I shoved the thought aside, straightening my shoulders. There was still something I could do.

"Insurgency remains rife throughout the galaxy," I said, still not quite looking at him. "Quelling it is endless and bloody work, but do you think she would want you to turn away from it? She died serving the _Republic,_ Anakin."

He stared straight ahead. A light breeze ruffled his too-long hair, lifting strands the color of wet sand away from shadowed eyes. "No," he replied softly. "She'd have said it suits me."

I turned fully to him, frowning. "It's not your fault. You know that."

In the distance, Padmé's coffin became a single spark of silver amongst the crowd. It winked out an instant later. Finally Anakin allowed himself the luxury of blinking. He breathed deeply through his nose, his mechanical hand clenching with each inhalation, as if the air itself pained him.

"We haven't spoken of it in years, but if you need to talk about how much you..." I rubbed awkwardly at the back of my neck. "That is, if you need to talk about your _feelings..._ " 

Anakin turned sharply away from the mourners. He seized my arm as he pushed past. "Come on. You said it yourself. The war isn't over. Let's get bloody."

 

+++

**ANAKIN, ONE YEAR LATER**

The bed shook with my thrusts. Everything in the room shook: the side tables, the durasteel in the windows, the man beneath me. Sweat-drenched, I seized Obi-Wan's ankles and tore them further apart. He arched upward at the next shove, completely silent even as one of the lamps exploded, and his second release of the night splashed hot against my belly. When I bent to kiss him, his mouth was wet with blood, red as the ties I'd used to bind his wrists. He'd nearly bitten his bottom lip through.

_Padmé._

I looked away quickly, sweeping stray shards from the bed, and forced myself to grin. "So. What should I do to you now, Master? _I_ haven't come yet."

Obi-Wan huffed, blowing a tangle of auburn laced with grey out of his eyes. A single bruise marked his cheekbone, the lone injury we'd taken on our last mission. He hadn't earned it on the battlefield but on the barroom floor afterward, when we were supposed to be celebrating and he ended up defending my name instead. Since Palpatine's death, there'd been a lot of that.

Gently, I ran my fingers over the bruise. The Force was quiet between us now, controllable, and it slid into Obi-Wan's purpled flesh with a sigh. He opened his mouth to protest even as the swelling began to come down, but there was nothing he could do about it now. I didn't want my crime on his face, and besides--

Somewhere in the mess of sheets, a communicator chirped, high pitched and annoyed.

"Did we forget to check in again?" Obi-Wan asked, tugging at his ties now.

I ignored him and ripped the covers from the bed. The culprit was caught between black silk and the mattress, the communicator undoubtedly his from the number of nicks and dings in its silver plating. I kept my hardware in better repair than that.

Obi-Wan's eyes found the communicator the same moment as mine. _"Anakin..."_

I winked and brought the device to my mouth. "Kenobi's House of Ill Repute! Our special this week is an extra dirty--"

"Good morning, Skywalker," Ki-Adi-Mundi intoned, his voice as dry as always. The war's end had changed nothing. Not that the war was really over.

"Is it morning already?" 

"Vaguely," he continued, impatience creeping into his tone. "May I ask why Master Kenobi isn't answering his own communicator?"

In the background, Obi-Wan thrashed as only he could: mouse-quiet, mouthing obscenities at me in between 'don't you dares.' Grin never wavering, I straddled his chest and rocked back and forth several times before turning my attention back to Ki-Adi-Mundi.

"Well, he _is_ somewhat indisposed at the moment--hey!" Laughing, I paused long enough to wrap my fingers in Obi-Wan's hair and jerk his mouth off my inner thigh. Tooth-marks dented the skin there. "Is it about another assignment?"

For a long time, Ki-Adi-Mundi said nothing. Beneath me, Obi-Wan stilled. Force churned briefly in the room, and the red ties slithered free of his wrists. He snatched the communicator without a word, watching in silence as I strode to the window. Outside, the Coruscanti dawn was perfect, as flawless as an artist's masterpiece and just as unrealistic. In less than fifteen minutes, that cloudless sky would be torn asunder by a heavy and scheduled rain. Even after all this time, it remained difficult to watch, but I had almost come to enjoy punishing myself this way.

Behind me, sheets shifted, proof that some of Obi-Wan's modesty lingered. "Why didn't Anakin's communicator go off as well?"

There was another long moment of silence filled with occasional bursts of static. I stared straight ahead, mechanical fingers spread on the glass. Sometime during the night, Obi-Wan had torn off my glove, and now my hand was as bare as the rest of me, and as sticky. Pap'razzi droids had been all the rage this summer, stealing moments of time for the HoloNet. I didn't care. Let them see me naked in Obi-Wan Kenobi's rooms.

"Ki," Obi-Wan said sharply, "I asked--"

"I heard you, Obi-Wan," Ki-Adi-Mundi replied, low. _Tired of having the same old argument._

"And?"

"And I suppose there's no point in warning you again."

I glanced back at Obi-Wan. He'd settled into the pillows, red ties pooled in his lap. His face was nearly the same color. "No point whatsoever. Now give us our new assignment."

I turned back to the window, only half listening. It was an old story, one I'd heard over and over since Palpatine's downfall. A team less experienced than ours had taken on a small nest of Separatists still trying to fight the good fight. The Separatists had gone down easily enough--that was the last report. After that, there was nothing but intermittent life-signs from our team's ship, but no visual or auditory signals. At least that was new.

Obi-Wan sighed. "Can't you have a droid scan the ship?"

"Even the droids aren't functioning," Ki-Adi-Mundi replied, "yet according to all sensors, the ship itself is in perfect order. Only--"

Obi-Wan finished the sentence for him. "Only no one is flying it anymore." 

Lightning rolled outside, and the rains began, slow and easy. In moments they would be a torrent, cold, prescribed, and unnatural... just like everything Palpatine had promised to teach me.

The remaining lamp in the room shuddered. Obi-Wan caught it one-handed before it could tumble to the floor. I made no effort to help him. For an instant, I saw nothing, not the room or the growing storm outside it. Then there was the blackness of space, its darkness broken only by a scattering of stars and debris, and the feel of Obi-Wan's hands on me, refusing to let go.

"Ki," Obi-Wan asked, still on the bed, so far from me, "why do I have a bad feeling about this?"

I blinked. Though the vision was fading, I already knew.

The Council was sending us past Wild Space, into the Unknown Regions.

 

+++

**OBI-WAN**

Even at top speed, it took us three days to reach our destination. By the time our ship had made it to the edge of known space and we had abandoned it for our fighters, I had nearly shaken off the dread. Nearly, but not quite. Despite Qui-Gon's years of admonishment, I still couldn't live entirely in the present. Perhaps that was because the present seemed too fragile to hold.

After Padmé's death, I had been so careful not to touch him. Truthfully, I had been careful not to touch Anakin for many years, ever since he had reached a certain height, ever since his shoulders had reached a certain width. His mouth--no, there'd been no touching Anakin after that, no more nights of letting him slip into my bed, regardless of the nature of his dreams. 

It had taken only an instant. A long string of missions had come to an end, and he had dropped down on his bunk, staring straight ahead with the eyes of one half-dead. Without thinking, I had set my hand on his shoulder, had bent low to mouth words of encouragement. Without thinking, he had refused the words and taken the mouth itself. 

Such was how it had been ever since.

Such was how it had been three days ago, before Ki-Adi-Mundi had sent us to this.

Dancing with gravity, the debris of the missing team's ARC-170 starfighter twirled in a languid circle like the slowly unfurling petals of a multicolored rose. A dewdrop glittered at its center. I leaned forward, squinting at it through my fighter's canopy, and frowned. 

"Another ship," I whispered.

Anakin's voice crackled in my headset. "What?"

I slid back in my seat and peered down at my instrument panel. Its reading confirmed my visual scan. "See for yourself."

"It's... Nubian?" 

Without warning, Anakin's fighter shot past mine, a streak of yellow against the dark. It skimmed the edge of the gravity well-- _close, too close!_ \--and hurtled back, settling into formation again. I turned to glare at him, angry words already on my lips, more than ready to give him a piece of my mind the instant our eyes met across the expanse between our fighters. Instead I found his gaze locked on the ship amidst the debris, his face slack, like that of a man in shock. 

"Anakin?" I asked, but he could not hear me.

I looked down at my instrument panel again, closer this time, and understood. There could be no doubting it. The ship was not only Nubian, but a chromium-plated J-Type skiff reserved only for the aristocracy of Naboo. 

Worse yet, the ship was Padmé's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title inspired by [These Things](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g4cVv0kb-Fs&feature=youtu.be) by She Wants Revenge.


	2. Holiest Of Altars

  
[ ](http://tinypic.com?ref=205pitl)

**Holiest of Altars**

**ANAKIN**

"Vac suits," Obi-Wan said flatly, as if we hadn't just seen what we had seen, as if we found Padmé's ship adrift in space every day.

"Waste of time! I can have my breather ready, handle the jump with a Force bubble! Besides, we have no idea what's on the other side of that door, and it's impossible to fight in a--" His silence cut me off. Without a word, Obi-Wan began struggling into his vac suit, his movements awkward within the confines of his cockpit. I nearly tore off my headset in frustration.

"Patience, Anakin, and forethought. Recklessness gains nothing in situations like this."

"And here I was sure that I should embrace the Living Force and try to live in the moment, _Master._ " I jerked my vac suit from its storage compartment and thrust my feet down its bulky legs.

"The point is that I'd like you to _live_ , period." Obi-Wan's voice softened, the change evident even from beneath his space helmet. "Don't be like this. Don't be anything right now. Concentrate on the matter at hand."

In response, I slid into the last of my gear and burst from my cockpit. I'd lied to myself. The jump took more than the seven seconds I'd estimated. It took nearly twelve, almost double what I had predicted. Still, I was certain I could have made it. I was half-tempted to tell that, but the urge died the moment the door swung shut. Darkness closed around us, utterly complete, but hardly silent.

The wind? I cocked my head to one side. No, that whistle wasn't the wind. I stiffened. 

"I can hear it, too," Obi-Wan whispered. "Birds. Anakin, light a--"

Without warning, the ship obeyed.

Overhead, the massive glass and crystal chandelier that had hung in the grand foyer of the lake house known as Varykino blazed to life. Most likely it still hung there. I had no idea. Since her death, I had never returned to the place where Padmé had fallen in love with me, where we had married, where I had most likely fathered the twins. I had planned never to do so again. Yet I was here. I knew the gloss of the marble walls. I knew the pattern of the tile floor.

Mouth dry, I unfastened my helmet and lifted it off.

"Anakin--"

I inhaled. There. Sandalwood and patchouli, the perfumes of Naboo. I squeezed shut my eyes.

Obi-Wan's gloved hand settled my shoulder. He squeezed. "Are you all right?"

"The air's breathable." Still turned from him, I began to tug off my suit.

"I'm not certain that's such a good idea. Surely--a gas that causes hallucinations--something--"

"That could get through our vacs?" Finally I looked back at him. Beneath his helmet, Obi-Wan's face was pinched, worried. "Are you coming or not? This is a search and rescue, not a sight-seeing tour."

He blinked, obviously taken aback. "Of course, but we need to make sure the door is secure first."

"Obi-Wan," I said quietly. _"There isn't any door."_

He glanced over his shoulder, then made a slow, visual sweep of the room. On the second, an oath escaped him, so soft I barely heard it. He pulled off his helmet, setting it on a nearby table of dark, intricately filigreed wood.

The table held. Not an illusion then. Or, if it was, a solid one.

"Was that always here?" Obi-Wan asked, shrugging out of his suit.

"Was what--" I followed his line of sight, and my words stopped dead. A massive portrait hung on the west wall, set in a gilded frame. It wasn't the opulence that struck me. That was the norm at Varykino. But the dress, and the face...

"Padmé," I choked out, unable to hold it back. The gown was the same one she'd worn the first time I'd kissed her, her smile just as inviting and enigmatic.

A solid illusion, then, and an exceptionally cruel one.

Without looking back, I set off deeper into the house, Obi-Wan following quickly behind. I didn't know what he was thinking, but his silence spoke louder than any words.

The hall led straight forward, tiny parlor rooms and other corridors branching off in nearly every direction. With every step, I saw something I knew--the room where Padmé had so often insisted we take tea; the dress she had worn the night I had confessed my love to her, so casually draped over the back of a chair; an oil painting of the first time we'd been intimate hung on the wall. I rushed past it with my head down, but Obi-Wan stopped, holding me back.

"You seem to know your way around," Obi-Wan stated evenly, gazing up at the scene, voice devoid of emotion. 

I shrugged, jaw tight.

"I thought that you'd only been here twice."

"Good memory, I guess." More bitter than I should have sounded. My cheeks burnt.

Obi-Wan's eyes lingered on the painting a moment longer, but I couldn't bear to look. I fixed my gaze on the giant window just ahead of us. Green fields dotted with white flowers spread out beyond the glass, their slopes still unforgotten after all this time. 

In the distance, a woman knelt, gathering blossoms. The wind caught her as she stood, unraveling the ribbons in her dark hair and snatching the flowers from her hands. Petals scattered with the second gust. She lifted her head, laughing, as beautiful now as she had been the first time we had come here.

"Padmé!"

***

 

**OBI-WAN**  


"Padmé!"

I shot forward, seizing Anakin's fist in my hands before it could slam down a second time. "I know that you miss her, but now is not the--"

Anakin swung towards me. Spots of color rode high on his otherwise blanched cheeks. The fist inside my grip shook. "Miss her? Can't you _see_ her?"

He turned back to the blank marble wall. "Anakin," I started, but went no further. The last of the blood drained from his face. He took a step back. He had already seen.

Anakin ran a hand through suddenly sweat-damp hair. "One of my visions?"

"Perhaps, but I think it's best that we get you off the ship--"

_"No."_

I bit my tongue. Ki-Adi-Mundi, Anakin--I was sick of arguing with both of them. I would not add another branch to the flames.

Anakin glowered. "What? I won't run away from petty Separatists. You expect me to run away from this?"

_Not this,_ I thought. _From her. And just once I wish you would._

His eyes narrowed. I fought the urge to drop my gaze. My face had already said what I'd promised myself I would not.

"She was never jealous of you," Anakin managed, his voice just above a whisper. He turned sharply on his heel, at the doorway again in four long strides. 

"Of course Padmé was never jealous of me," I said quietly. "There wasn't a _me_ then."

But he was already gone.

I counted the rest of the way to ten, giving him just enough distance to cool off before I followed. At the last number, I reached the parlor's threshold, peering out into the hall. It led off in both directions, just as long as before, but this time truly empty. Its granite walls housed nothing but smooth doors of grey metal. No portraits lined the corridor; no rugs adorned the floor. I scarcely dared to breathe. Distantly, birds trilled, their song underscored by the constant burble of running water. 

This was not Naboo. If I headed past all the classrooms and meditation nooks, I would find the Temple's Thousand Fountains. If I went back, I would come to the stairs, the stairs that led to my rooms.

_Anakin. If the ship was becoming the Jedi Temple, surely he would head for my rooms._ At least that is what I told myself. Something about the light as I ran the length of the corridor, something about the height of the few placards set into the walls--I took the steps two at a time, my chest burning by the time I reached my chambers. 

My hand began its regular dance over the entry-pad, and then paused, taking up a different and older pattern. My fingers left perspiration on the keys.

The door slid back. Inside, my common room was cool and dim, every lamp unlit, except that it was no longer mine. Beyond the sofa, beyond the low table and the tea set eternally in use upon it, tall windows spread across the outer wall, the gold and scarlet of the Coruscanti sunset filling the panes. A man stood before them, his back to me, little more than a silhouette against the light.

"Anakin?" I asked, even though I already knew it wasn't him. The shoulders were too wide, the fall of the man's hair too long as he turned toward me. All I could smell was kopi tea.

Slowly, my Padawan braid unfurled down my neck.

Before me stood Qui-Gon Jinn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title ispired by [Magdelena](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0VdnEQVBPIw) by A Perfect Circle.


	3. Piercing This Skin

  
[ ](http://tinypic.com?ref=2u6mc6b)

**Piercing This Skin**

**ANAKIN**

Like everything in this wretched place, the music box had appeared almost before my eyes. Spilling through a window I wasn't sure even existed, a column of sunlight lit its porcelain top, leaving it warm to the touch. My fingers lingered on the delicate gold filigree and pink rosebuds. The box had been Padmé's.

I opened it slowly, and the dancers inside began to twirl. At each pass, their hands met, one of them a boy, blonde and fair, the other a girl, dark of hair but as light-skinned as her brother. She had the look of an aristocrat, while he wore a simpler set of clothing, much like what I'd owned on Tatooine. I shivered, goosebumps covering my arms.

The tune inside tinkled softly, fit for any little girl. I smiled faintly, imagining how Padmé must have loved this box when she was a child. I brushed the female dancer's tiny tulle skirt, and a note played off key. I frowned, then touched the other. The music faltered, giving way to jumbled noise. A final nudge and it stopped altogether, replaced by the trill of a thousand birds.

In the distance, Obi-Wan screamed. 

Before I could even look away, the box had become dirty, ugly, infested with something I was afraid to identify. I saw it pulse as if taking a breath, and I flung it to the floor. I raced down the hall, not looking back. 

Obi-Wan had been right. I knew these corridors like I knew my own hand. Face flooding with heat again, I ran faster, not bothering to look at anything as I passed it by, instinctively grabbing my saber from my belt.

I rounded a corner. Obi-Wan stood in the hall, face white beneath his beard, his eyes wide and unfocused. He grabbed for the wall, and leaned hard against it, his other hand still not moving from his neck. The portrait his shoulder was set against was another of Padmé and I, the sunset lake in the background. It was the moment where I had proposed to her. My blush deepened.

"What... what is it?" I panted, hooking my weapon back to my belt.

Obi-Wan looked up, making a rough noise in his throat. Still glazed, his eyes fixed on the painting. The hand on the back of his neck twitched. What was he seeing?

"Obi-Wan..."

"It was nothing." The words came out strained, barely audible. Almost reluctantly, he released the back of his neck and made a gesture of dismissal. 

I held out my hand, and he took it, letting me pull him up to his full height. "What did you see?" 

Head down, he began to pat his clothes, straightening invisible wrinkles. "Nothing! I didn't see anything. It was a trick of the light--of--of something." 

_"Obi-Wan."_

He jerked out of my grip. "I do _not_ need your help."

"You... _Fine._ Have it your way." I spun around, headed back the way I'd come, barely able to restrain myself from stomping away. It was the second time I'd stormed away from him today, but I wouldn't let him see my anger. No doubt he could feel it through our bond if he wanted, even if that meant he had to look for it. Let him.

I turned the corner, and the scent hit me. The perfume of the Nubian flowers that Padmé liked so much filled the air. And I found that I was no longer angry.

+++

 

**OBI-WAN**  


For the second time that day, I let him go, my own stubbornness now the cause. Slowly, I brought a hand to my face, rubbing at my eyes as if to dislodge the remains of sleep from them. That's all Qui-Gon could have been: the creation of an exhausted mind. That the war was _officially_ over meant nothing. Even on leave, we never stopped. There was always one more battle to fight, one more rumor to put down. And Force! Hadn't I secretly wished my Master was with me, that I could ask him for advice?

I drew a shuddering breath, hand over my eyes a moment longer. When I lowered it again, the ship was--I tensed, saber in my hand at once. For an instant, the ship was just that, nothing more than a vehicle meant for space travel. Yet something was wrong with it. Thick and blood-colored, rust spattered the walls. The walls themselves were worse, somehow connecting with the floor in an angle never known to man. I blinked, trying to will it away, but the dizzying perspective remained. My gorge rose.

If he was alone in this...

Without thinking, I reached into the bond. Words were beyond us, but we could still share images, impressions. I could still see what Anakin saw.

I reached, and immediately the ship was Naboo. Sunlight filled the corridor, its glow buttery on the hall's marble walls. The floor's tile pattern led into the distance, elaborately painted diamonds touched with gold, all of it luxurious, all of it normal for Varykino.

The cry of birds was deafening, the scent of flowers like a noose about my throat.

Saber still in hand, I ran. There was no time for a mindlink. "Anakin! Anakin--"

Vertigo stabbed deep between my eyes. I stumbled, grabbing at a wall for support. None came. Where the wall had been, only empty air now existed, warm as a summer evening. 

Evening? Awkwardly I came to my feet, peering upward. Stars spread out overhead, the perfect canopy for a secret hide-a-way. Caught in the breeze, a pale blossom spiraled past, moonlight rich on its petals. It landed in the nearby fountain, swept by its spray towards the couple that sat upon the edge, shoulder to shoulder and hip to hip, her head upon his shoulder.

I wrenched my eyes away. 

Feminine laughter filled the garden. "See? I knew I was right. The babies will be happy here. You'll be happy here, Ani. No more war, just being the husband you were meant to be."

"I'm already your husband, Padmé. The war hasn't changed that."

I choked. In unison, they turned, Anakin and Padmé both. At once he tried to push away, but she gripped his wrist, painted nails catching the silver light. Not letting go of him, she rose, her crimson skirt settling about her ankles, her belly distended from the children still inside her.

She had never looked so beautiful.

"So," Padmé said, no challenge in it. "You know."

"I wanted to tell you! I wanted--" Anakin leapt up, taking a step forward. It was as far as she would let him go, her hand still locked around his wrist.

"But you didn't." Again, there was no threat in her words, only the calm certainty of a woman who had faced the senate for years. "And now you're very angry, aren't you, Obi-Wan?"

Anakin swallowed. 

"Hurt, then." It was not a question. No smile flickered at the corner of her mouth.

I said nothing. Why bother with words when your lover can read your mind?

Precisely, deliberately, I raised my shields one by one.

Anakin started forward, nearly tugging free of her grip. "Obi-Wan--"

The air rippled. Beneath my feet, the garden's stone walkway was thick with slime. I blinked, but it did not change, not now that I had jerked my thoughts out of Anakin's. And yet Padmé remained exactly the same, as lovely as always.

No. More so.

My hand tightened on my saber hilt.

She smiled, showing teeth. "I think that you should go, Master Jedi." 

Anakin spun toward her. "Padmé, what are you--"

His voice died. He stepped back, one hand up as if to ward her off. Whatever he had seen, it was not Padmé.

"Mine," she said, and the loveliness no longer reached her voice.

Anakin took another step back.

Her smile widened. "Fine. The hard way, then."

I lunged. The smell of flowers was ripped away, replaced by the scent of ozone. Then there was only the stink of sizzling flesh, and the lightning that had exploded from Padmé's outstretched hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title inspired by [I Do Not Want This](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YTj4mMp5dk8) by Nine Inch Nails.


	4. Dust

  
[ ](http://tinypic.com?ref=vpc47o)

**Dust**

**ANAKIN**

Choking, I watched as Obi-Wan's body convulsed, unable to even scream. She--Padmé--I didn't know anymore. All I knew was that I didn't want to hurt her, but in the instant I hesitated, Obi-Wan's eyes rolled back in his head. His mouth frothed.

Wincing even before my fist landed, I struck at the thing. With a shriek, it stumbled backwards, releasing its hold on my partner. I caught Obi-Wan before he hit the ground and flung him over my shoulder. He moaned a protest, but I ignored it. I would have to risk checking for injuries later. Now all I could do was run. His saber was barely an afterthought.

Obi-Wan clutched tight in my arms, I rushed for the airlock. Almost at once, the knowledge I'd had of these halls meant nothing. Portraits changed, crumbled. Marble gave way, shifting to earthen tunnels. 

A creature's call echoed off the rough walls. I came to a stop, head lifted, a cold sweat clinging to my skin. I knew that sound. I turned slowly. Cast by torchlight, the shadow of a Tusken Raider loomed. Another shadow merged with the first, joined by a third, by too many to count. All the silhouettes blended into one.

I took a step, but a shout to my left brought me short. Blindly I tried to go the other way, only to feel one of those _beasts_ grab hold of Obi-Wan's arm and pull. 

I gripped him tight around the waist. Obi-Wan's moan was louder this time, his head lolling. "No! You can't have him!"

Its masked face thrust close to mine, the monster jerked Obi-Wan's arm, and I felt it slip from the socket. His cry echoed above the crowd.

I gripped harder, knuckles whitening. "He's mine!" 

A blaster bolt exploded over my shoulder. I had to let him go. I bellowed frustration as Obi-Wan slid from my grasp. My saber spun, carving a wide arc through the Tuskens in front of me. I did not care about form or function. Smoking bodies fell in front of me; limbs and heads lay askew in the dim light. Blood splattered my face, its copper tang mixing with the stink of charred flesh. My stomach curdled, but I did not stop until the last body fell in a heap on its companions. 

"Obi-Wan!" I threw corpses to the side. "Obi-Wan!"

He was gone. Everyone left in the tunnel was dead.

Except me.

Hand tacky with blood, I leaned heavily against the wall. _Padmé. Now Obi-Wan._ I hadn't been fast enough to save either of them. 

I stood quickly and wiped angrily at my eyes, my saber still firmly in my fist. A set of tracks led in the opposite direction. I followed, kicking bodies out of the way. This time, it would be too late.

The physics of the place seemed impossible. I groped along by torchlight, all sense of direction lost. Never lifting my eyes from the tracks, I ran face first into an animal hide door, the sort Tuskens used in their huts. 

Growling, I threw back the hide. In the center of the low-ceilinged room stood a cross, a figure bound with rope to its crudely-hewn arms. Its head rolled to one side, revealing a dirty face too soft to be Obi-Wan's.

"Ani," it whispered, and the voice was too feminine as well.

I choked. "No."

"Ani," she managed again, louder this time. Hesitation gone, I rushed into the tent. My mother's eyes flicked to mine. 

She tried to smile at me. "I knew you'd come. I knew you'd come back for me."

I stroked her cheek once, then set to the ties holding her in place. "Mom, don't--"

"Such a good boy, I knew you would be fast enough." She coughed, bloody spittle spattering my face. My nails broke on the knots. I yanked, but it was no use. The ropes wouldn't budge.

"I love you, my Ani." Another spasm, and her body went limp, so very much like Padmé's. 

I slapped at her cheeks frantically. "Mom! Mom, please wake up! Mom--"

I shook her hard. There was no response.

_No, not again, not again, not again--_

I wailed like the animals that had killed her.

***

 

**OBI-WAN**  


Screams echoed off the ship's rust-eaten walls. I woke face down, right arm limp at my side. Gingerly, I pushed upward, pain shooting throughmy limbs at the tiniest movement. There was no time to give into it. Tongue pinched between my teeth against the urge to cry out, I slammed my shoulder into the bulkhead once, twice. Light exploded behind my eyes as the dislocated shoulder slid back into place. Still, I did not fall. I leaned for a long time, head down, eyes squeezed shut. When I stepped away from the wall, a thick string of slime came with me, connecting me to the rust like a cancerous umbilical.

I brushed it away, grimacing. My saber arm was stiff, but usable. As for my saber itself, I reached for the weapon on my belt and clasped air instead. Gone, probably lost when Padmé--I swallowed, throat tight, hand pressed to the place where her lighting had struck me.

Padmé. 

With a deep breath, I willed my muscles to relax again. She may have been many things to Anakin--lover, mother of his children, _wife_ \--but she had never been that thing. Whatever had attacked me, it had not been her. Even with petty jealousies taken into account, I refused to believe it. Besides, who could be jealous of the dead?

I turned in a slow circle. "Anakin?"

No response came. Blighted corridors stretched away from me in both directions, leading the Force knew where. I was left in silence, the screams already having stopped. 

"Anakin," I whispered again. Once, many years before, my Master had told me about the great maze gardens of Naboo. If lost in them, one need only take the right-hand path over and over. It would unfailingly lead you to the center of the labyrinth, and from there home. 

This ship seemed little different from those gardens. 

Quietly, hand resting lightly on the wall, I made my way forward. Slime slicked my fingers, but I did not pull away. I was looking for something, anything, a clue. Padmé might not have attacked me, but something had, something that might be in battle with Anakin even now.

In _battle._ I would not consider anything worse.

I risked corridor after corridor, even braved a turbo lift. On the second floor--how big was this ship?--I came across the bridge, its controls as rust-ravaged and covered with dust as everything else in sight. I brushed a console and pale powder spiraled up into the air, fine as ground opals, shimmering like... Like dew at the center of a rose?

I blinked, remembering how the debris of our team's ARC-170 starfighter had slowly whirled in space, the Nubian ship at the center of its destruction, its shell silver and pristine, glittering with the light of nearby stars. 

Something about the Nubian... I could not place it. Shaking my head, I left the bridge, setting off down the corridors again. Soon enough, the hallways opened into a greater room. The light there was softer, flickering. No, not flickering, but pulsing in an even rhythm. Machinery whirred with every beat, but faintly, the great engine that was the ship's heart still barely alive. Alive, but with no one to man it.

I swallowed again, my mouth not dry with grief this time, but with a nameless dread. Reluctantly, I made my way toward the engine, to the place where the ship's designation would be etched. Rust clung to metal like a scab. I rubbed it away as quickly as I could, my hand red as blood by the time every letter had appeared.

Blood pooled in my feet. "The Celeste," I muttered, stepping back as quickly as I could, as if the name had scalded my fingers. It almost had. Hadn't I, like every other Padawan, been burnt by older students with tales of this ghost ship before my first starflight?

I wiped my hand furiously on my robes, not caring about the stains. It was ridiculous, at best a tall tale about a ship that had risked Wild Space without proper precautions and paid the price, but it was no more real than anything else we had seen. Ghosts did not exist. The dead were dead.

As if it defied me, the ship rippled. All at once, the hum of the engine grew louder, constant. The light above me blazed. I raised a hand, shielding my eyes against the glare. When I lowered it again, the rust threaded through the hull had disappeared, replaced by a dull red glow reflected off unblemished metal. I turned, and found myself face to face with a force-field, everything beyond its tinted wall seemingly awash with blood.

Two figures clashed in the scarlet, amidst the towering generators of Theed. The villain's saber was double-ended, and redder still, but its hue was nothing compared to the color of his skin. Set against the man he fought, he might have been a demon.

He was.

Crying out, I slammed my fists against the force field. The other combatant spun, his saber the only other shade among the red. As brilliant as it was, as green, I knew that it would soon go out.

The pain in my sword arm meant nothing. "Master!"

But Qui-Gon did not hear me. He did not even glance my way. He only advanced, weapon raised, stepping directly into the battle that would kill him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title inspired by [Running Away](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kxwsu8JfvVU) by Hoobastank.


	5. Wake Me

  
[ ](http://tinypic.com?ref=2dk0ejd)

**Wake Me**

**ANAKIN**

"Mom..."

A sob escaped me. Bent over my mother's body, tears fell freely down my face. I could not hold them back. I stroked her hair softly, letting the strands slip between my fingers. As filthy as it was, it was just as soft as I'd remembered. I rubbed my cheek against hers. 

Something moved over the back of my fingers. I jerked sharply, expecting to flick an insect away. That's when I noticed how clean my hand was, how free of blood. I lunged, but grabbed nothing. The hair in my grasp faded along with all evidence of the Tuskens. Even the sand beneath my feet was gone.

I wiped my eyes on the back of my sleeve, biting back anger. Where were we? How could anyone know my secrets like this? I couldn't take much more of this... this _mindtrick._

Behind me, metal groaned, as if a droid in need of an oiling had decided to test his joints. I spun around. The caves and tents--all gone. In their place stood ancient steel walls, the type common in ships during the days of the Old Republic. Most were in good shape, with only a few spots of rust. Really, I didn't care. The ship had let me out, but had it freed Obi-Wan?

Head down, I hurtled through the passage ways. Maybe, if I did not look, the corridors would stop doubling back on themselves, would begin to make sense. Perhaps the ship would stop redesigning herself. 

A familiar voice echoed off the walls. "No! Master!"

I ran faster, no longer trying to figure it out. Obi-Wan was in trouble, and that was all that mattered. 

Before I could even get out of breath, I found him. He stood with his back to me, hands raised, flailing against... nothing? I knew by now not to trust my eyes, not with everything else I'd seen. Cautiously I extended a hand, gripping his shoulder.

He whirled. Fresh smears of blood streaked his cheeks. Scarlet coated his bruised and battered hands. He spared me a few words-- "Don't! Please, I can't--" and spun away from me again, miming punching a wall. "Master!"

His eyes remained wide, fixed on an empty hallway. At the edge of my vision, something shifted; faces of rust filled the corridor. Their mouths opened and closed in silent screams. 

"Master!" he shouted again, louder this time, and more desperate. Blood flew as Obi-Wan pounded his fists, hitting us both. He turned back to me, but only for an instant, as if he didn't dare look away from the horrors before him. "Please! You have to help me!"

"There's nothing there, Obi-Wan. There's--" I tried to say as gently as I could, tried to hold him still as he struggled against me, but it was no use. I seized his hands. "Obi-Wan! There's nothing there!"

His voice rose to a shriek. "What? Can't you see them? My Master, that thing is going to kill my--"

I squeezed harder. "Qui-Gon's already dead!" 

"Am I dead, too?" Padmé asked, her voice soft but sudden behind me, her hand coming to rest on my shoulder.

I tensed, blinking repeatedly, my eyes burning. Obi-Wan broke away from me, slamming his hands against imaginary force-fields again. His cries echoed through the ship.

"Is that what you want?" she asked. Cool fingers stroked my neck. "For me to be dead?"

I balled my fists, not turning, and the caress changed. Padmé purred in contentment as her fingernails trailed down the side of my throat, tracing the path of my jugular. I pressed shut my eyes. If I looked back, would the nails be the white my wife always painted them or the scarlet of a seductress? Would they be nails at all? Arms slid around my waist, a cheek pressed into my back, and I nearly wept again.

"You don't have to leave, Ani. We don't have to be apart, not ever. You could--"

Obi-Wan wailed. I could smell it now, through our mindlink: the sweet stink of burning flesh. I had killed before; I knew all too well what it meant. A man long dead had just died again, his Padawan looking on helplessly. In a matter of heartbeats, the shield would dissolve and Obi-Wan would engage his murderer. Last time he had won, but what did that mean in this place?

Padmé's arms tightened. Teeth brushed my neck. Eyes still closed, I tore away, stabbing my lightsaber backwards in the same movement. Whatever it was behind me stiffened and screamed in pain. I couldn't look. If I did, I knew I would only see my wife clutching her stomach again, blood pouring between her legs. The child was long gone and so was she. There was only Obi-Wan here, the last of the living among the dead.

There was no thought to it. With a surge of Force, I jerked him towards me. He screeched, struggling to get back to the corpse of the man who had raised him. 

"Please, I have to--"

"I won't lose you, too!"

My will became a fist, slamming into the hull of the ship again and again. Girders bent. Metal tore.

"A breath, Obi-Wan, take a--"

The world exploded, and I opened my eyes. Shrapnel from the hull shot past, tearing at the bubble I had thrown up around us. Stars whirled, none of them familiar. Somewhere, our ship drifted in the darkness.

I looked down. Obi-Wan stared up at me, his eyes wide, his lips faintly blue. His throat worked, but nothing emerged, no sound, not the faintest gasp, not even in the confines of my Force bubble.

I made the only choice I could. I clutched him tighter, pressing my mouth to his, and exhaled.

+++

 

**OBI-WAN**  


The body on the cot twitched, curled tighter into itself. Slowly I pried loose the hands locked to its face. Eyelids fluttered, revealing azure streaked with red. Tears left stripes on filthy cheeks.

"Anakin. _Anakin._ Enough of this now. It's time to get up."

Lids fluttered again, and then finally rose. At the sight of me, his gaze jerked to the ceiling of our ship. "You're alive."

I smiled faintly. "Apparently."

He stared upward, refusing to look at me. "I let her die."

"No more than I let Qui-Gon die." I paused to rinse the cloth in my hands, watching in silence as a cloud spread across the surface of the basin. "We both did what we could, even if we made some very bad choices."

Anakin blanched. Wet eyes rolled toward me. "How long have you known?"

"About the marriage? You know that I didn't."

"About..." He swallowed. "About Mace."

"I always suspected, Anakin. I won't say I didn't." 

"Then why? Why us?"

"I won't say it's right. It isn't. But..." I paused, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth. "I would have done nearly anything to save Qui-Gon. Think of what I would have done for you."

His eyes swam. He held my gaze a long time before he squeezed them shut again, his face rigid. "I don't think I can do this anymore. The Council, the war..."

I let the cloth slip back into the basin, bending lower to rest my forehead on Anakin's own. Before I could even blink, tears slid down my cheeks, tears for Padmé, for Qui-Gon, for everyone I had ever loved and thought I had failed.

"Obi-Wan," he began again, clutching me now, "I just don't think I can do this."

I drew a shaky breath, and let myself weep for the first time I could remember. "I don't think we have to."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title inspired by [Animal I Have Become](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xqds0B_meys) by Three Days Grace.

**Author's Note:**

> The complete soundtrack can be found [here on 8tracks](http://8tracks.com/i-am-only-revolutions/consumed-1).


End file.
